Albums are sometimes best understood in terms of the circumstances under which you might want to listen to them. Think of Mojo magazine asking a handful of quasi-celebrities each month to pick a "Saturday Night" and "Sunday Morning" record; Loren Connors' The Departing of a Dream, for example, should only be legally available between 11 p.m. and 4 a.m., while Sam Prekop's solo record makes sense on a cheery day when the sunlight is streaming through the window.

When listening to Satin Black, the fourth record by the instrumental guitar/bass/drum trio Paik, I'm struck with a paradox. This is the perfect soundtrack for a dark room in a dank basement that has been sealed off completely from a disgustingly sunny day, so it's daytime music of a different sort. Paik make the kind of slow, drop-D guitar sludge that alienated suburban kids have been getting stoned to since Black Sabbath entered the fray. Nighttime is about dreams and endless possibility and daytime is for making things happen; Satin Black is about disengaging from the cycle altogether.

I mention Sabbath only as an indicator of mood; Paik are not metal, though they are certainly heavy. The touchstones of their sound are ultimately much more contemporary, as they combine Sonic Youth's experiments in tuning and atonal riffage with Bardo Pond's krautrock-channeling rhythmic thrust. Guitarist Robert Smith's instrument often seems as though it has only a couple of loosely wound strings (such is the nature of his bottom-focused stabs and endless ripples of sustain), which is amplified by the fact that he often wraps his lines completely around those of the bass guitar. The drummer focuses on a thudding style of heavy rock "groove" while making heavy use of crash and ride cymbals to maintain an air of mysticism, the sharp metal percussion connecting with our subconscious vision of the gypsy caravan.

I would say that Paik chug forward like a poorly lubed steam train, but since they're from Michigan, perhaps a souped-up but rusted-out 1978 Crown Victoria would be a better metaphor. In any event, Paik construct an unpredictable ramshackle clang, always just on the verge of falling apart, around a core of serious power. The detuned three-note riff of "Jayne Field" combined with the Bonham-esque percussion stomp creates a tension that the tumbling middle refrain releases nicely. "Dirt for Driver" and the title track, meanwhile, find the guitar leaving the massive central bass riff to explore acidic upper-register runs, at times exhibiting a touching lyricism. The songs are all on the long side, of course, befitting a band that aligns itself with the Michigan space-rock scene, and Satin Black culminates in the 15-minute closer "Stellar Meltdown en el Oceano", an extended feedback drone with the drummer laying out that could be understood as a tribute to the sonic ambience of Detroit industry.

Even if Satin Black is heavy and bleak music for dropping out, I'm certainly not knocking it. In fact, we need those kinds of records desperately. A few hours wallowing alone with records like this one can be cathartic in its own way, like pushing the "pause" button on your life, and it's sure a lot better for you than heroin. You can always open the curtains after you've spent some time down here working things out.